


The New Round Table

by LylaRivers



Category: Buffy the Vampire Slayer, Doctor Who (2005), Merlin (TV), Sherlock (TV), Supernatural, Torchwood
Genre: Gen, Massive AU, please ignore timelines
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-29
Updated: 2016-02-29
Packaged: 2018-05-23 20:49:16
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,576
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6129640
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LylaRivers/pseuds/LylaRivers
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In the time of Albion's greatest need, the Once and Future King will rise.  Merlin needs a little help to bring Arthur back, and give him a purpose.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The New Round Table

**Author's Note:**

> This has been lying around for ages. Have a super ridiculous massive AU where all of these stories /conveniently/ happen at the same time so they can all meet each other.

_ The time is now.  _

_ The signs all point towards one thing- the return of the once and future King. Demon activity is on the rise. Crime is more frequent than ever. Aliens are arriving on Earth more often.  _

_ The 21st century is when everything changes. It's destiny hinges on the shoulders of many.  _

_ The time is now. _

***

"So get this."

"What, Sammy? Can't you give this damn Cardiff thing a rest?" Dean growls.

"I really think we need to check it out," Sam says earnestly. "There are demon signs and portents all over the place."

"You mean just like any other place in America that we look at on a daily basis?"

"No, Dean, listen. This article says that there was a massive earthquake in Cardiff two days ago," Sam says, flipping his computer around to show his brother.

"So?"

"So, Cardiff doesn't get earthquakes. They're not even close to any fault lines. There's other stuff too, if you're not convinced yet," Sam adds smugly.

"Still doesn't sound demon-y," Dean complains.

"You just don't want to fly another plane again, do you?" Sam asks, trying very hard not to smirk.

"Damn it, Sammy. I just don't want to leave my girl alone here."

"I'll get the plane tickets," Sam says with a grin. He pulls his computer back towards him, and does exactly that.

***

"Bored."

"No, I'm not giving you any more nicotine patches, Sherlock," John says testily.

"But John..."

"No. I also took the liberty of locking up your gun. The wall doesn't need any more abuse."

"I need a case! An interesting one!" Sherlock complains.

John glances out the window. "Well, there's two men standing outside our door, pacing."

Sherlock jumps up from the couch, and peers out the window. "Americans. Brothers, definitely. They're experienced at wielding weapons, mostly handguns, but occasionally others such as knives. And they've only just landed in Great Britain."

"Thought that'd cheer you up," John mutters.

There's a thud at the steps. "Sherlock, there are two boys here to see you," Mrs. Hudson calls from the doorway. "American FBI, they are. Agents Stark and Banner. Sherlock, you didn't do anything to get yourself in trouble, did you?"

"Not recently, Mrs. Hudson. Besides, these two are here on a case. Send them in."

Mrs. Hudson vanishes, and Sherlock sits up in his usual chair. The two men walk in. "You are Mr. Holmes, I presume? I'm Agent Stark, and this is my partner, Agent Banner." He glances over at John. "And you are?"

John walks over to him, and shakes his hand. "Doctor John Watson."

Agent Stark shakes his hand firmly, then sits down on the couch next to Agent Banner.

"Why are you here?" Sherlock asks bluntly.

"A very nice woman who worked at the morgue said you were the person to ask about all things strange and unexplainable. Molly Hooper, she said her name was," the taller man, Agent Banner said.

"And what is your problem?" Sherlock asks. "Make it quick.  And not boring."

“We’re here investigating some strange activity that’s happened here in the past couple of months,” the shorter man, Agent Stark says.

“Have you seen anything strange, recently?” Agent Banner asks.

“Strange?  How so?” Sherlock asks.  “John tells me it’s  _ strange _ that I keep body parts in the fridge for experiments.  How is this my problem? Why were you at the morgue? And, please stop lying to us and tell us your actual names,  _ Agents _ .”

“I’m not sure what you mean, our actual names,” Agent Stark says.

“Please.  It’s clear the two of you are brothers, so it’d be strange for you to both have different last names.  Furthermore, FBI agents don’t travel all the way across the pond for ‘strange activity’,” Sherlock says.

“And how, exactly do you know this?” Agent Banner asks.

“Sammy!  What are you doing?” Agent Stark hisses at the taller agent.

“Dean, lying isn’t going to get us anywhere.  I was talking with Molly, back at the morgue after you left.  This guy’s supposedly the real deal.”

“Are you two finished arguing?” Sherlock asks acidically.  Both men nod, sheepishly.  “I simply deduced it.  There’s a slight family resemblance, not just in your looks but also your bearing and manner of speaking.  You have a level of familiarity with each other that bespeaks something far more bonding than a simple working relationship.  You’re clearly both experienced with weapons, and you’ve been trained by the same person.  It’s obvious, once you look at it.”

“Obvious,” John echoes faintly.  “I still don’t know how you do that.  It’s not obvious to me at all.”

“That’s because you’re boring,” Sherlock mutters.

“Sherlock!”

“That’s… very impressive,” Agent Banner says quietly.  “What else do you know?”

Sherlock glares at him.  “I’m not some informant you can use for whatever case brought you all this way.  Find someone else to fuel your crazy search.”

“Search?” John asks, clearly lost.

“Come on, Sammy.  We’re clearly getting nowhere with this guy,” Agent Stark mutters, standing up.  “I think we’re done here.”

“Pity you’re not all that interested in something truly challenging,” Agent Banner says, standing up as well.  “But, if you’re interested in helping us find the root of all these supernatural problems, find us.  The names are Sam and Dean Winchester.”  Then, both men start to walk out.

“Wait!” Sherlock says, after a few seconds.

“Yes?” Agent Banner- Sam Winchester- says, turning around half way.

“Count us in,” Sherlock declares.  “But only for professional interest, you understand.”

“As if we expected anything else,” Agent Stark- Dean Winchester- mutters, mostly to himself.

“Us?” John asks apprehensively.  He’s soundly ignored by the other three.

***

“What, exactly, do you have?” Sherlock asks impatiently, sitting uncomfortably on the couch in the Winchesters’ hotel room.  “What is the purpose of bringing us here?”

“Look, we’ve got some stuff pinned up in here, like we usually do for long, difficult hunts,” Dean says, rather irritatedly.  He walks over to the closet, and flings open the door.  “It isn't pointless, at all.”

“Do you see any patterns?” Sam asks curiously, kicking his legs against the bed, laptop propped up in front of him.  “I mean, obviously, most of these events are located around two places- Stonehenge, and Cardiff, but maybe fresher eyes will tell us something we missed.  It also helps to be local- you know more about the lore of these places than we do.”

“Lore?” John asks, staring at all the markings on the maps, printouts and cuttings of news stories taped up to correspond with the location of the incident.

“Yeah, the lore,” Dean mutters.  “The stories, the extraterrestrial sightings… whatever.  Anything not natural.”

“I don’t deal in the supernatural,” Sherlock says haughtily, standing up to get a better look at the maps in the closet.  “I deal in facts.  Things I can observe, measure, and quantify.”

“The paranormal isn’t quantifiable, buddy,” Dean says.

“Then you’re asking the wrong person for help,” Sherlock says, turning away.  “Ask John.  I don’t do supernatural.  I don’t bother to fill my brain with such clutter.”

“No need to be rude, Sherlock,” John chastises.  “Well.  There have been some major UFO sightings recently.  You’d be hard pressed to forget the Christmas Invasion…”

“Christmas Invasion?” Sam asks, tying something into his computer.

“Oh yes.  It was all over the news.  There was a massive spaceship that flew over London.  About half the population was standing on the rooftops, just staring out blankly.  It was the eeriest thing I’ve ever seen,” John continues thoughtfully.  “And there was the massive spiderwebs in the sky and the massive flood the following year.  And after that, there was another space ship- but this one was crashing.  Right on top of Buckingham Palace, if you can believe it!”

“Hmmm…” Sam mutters.  “And all of this happened around Christmas time?  That’s certainly a pattern worth looking into.”

“But what about Cardiff?” Dean asks.  “A lot of strange incidents seem to happen there too- and not just at one time of year.”

“Oh yes, that.  Well, Cardiff has always been kind of a strange little town,” John says, rubbing at his chin.

“What does that mean?” Dean presses.

“Oh, strange things happen there.  People go missing… strange people show up… I dunno.  Bizarre place,” John says absently.  “On the other hand, the Welsh there are just as bizarre.  So who knows.”

“What are you even going on about, John?” Sherlock asks.  “Christmas Invasion?”

“The Christmas Invasion was the same year as the debacle with Irene Adler,” John says.  “I wouldn’t expect you to remember much from that time,” he adds snarkily.

“Aliens are boring,” Sherlock says promptly.  “They’re a fabrication boring people make up to make themselves feel less alone in the universe.  They can’t be scientifically proven to exist.”

“And what if aliens are the only possible explanation?” John demands.

“Look, I like marathoning Star Trek just as much as the next person,” Sam says, interrupting, “but I suspect the origin of all of this is a little more paranormal than extraterrestrial.  Demons are real.  Vulcan is all imagination.”

The other three stare blankly at him.  “Marathoning Star Trek?  Dude, you are a nerd,” Dean says.

***

_ He sits, and watches and waits.   _

_ The time is now.  Never has there been more of a need.  Not during the Great War, when he fought.  Fought, both as a medic, and with weapons. Struggled to save lives, and ended so many others.  _

_ Not during the second Great War.  Not as millions died.  Not as, once again, he fought, and watched good men die.  Not as the battle for the whole world raged all around him. _

_ The Once and Future King had not been ready yet. _

_ But now, the portents are falling into place.  Now, the stars align, and he rises.  Everything points to this time, and this place.  But why now?  What evil could be so great, that surpasses even wars that destroyed the world? _

_ So, he sits and watches and waits. _

***

“I’d rather be driving,” Dean grumbles.

“Shut up, Dean.  You’d probably drive the wrong way here,” Sam says.  “Let the locals drive.”

John grips the steering wheel.  “How is it I’m the only one here who knows how to actually drive?”

“I can drive!” Dean protests.

“Not in the UK, you can’t,” Sam says firmly.

“Driving is boring,” Sherlock says, looking up from his phone.  Sam notes he looks just a touch paler than normal.

“But it’s so complicated and complex.  I figured you’d love driving,” John says, knuckles going white on the steering wheel.

“Too predictable.  Besides, why crowd my brain with boring traffic laws when I can take a taxi everywhere?” Sherlock asks.

“Predictable?  Drivers are never predictable!” Dean exclaims.

“Is this the turn?” John asks suddenly.

“Yeah, that’s it,” Sam says, glancing at the GPS and map laid out on his lap.  “This turn to Cardiff.”

***

“Do those four look local to you?” Jack Harkness asks.

“Which four?” Ianto Jones asks, looking around the bar.

“In the far corner over there.  The two in the plaid shirts- one’s got some gorgeously long hair,” Jack says.  “The one in the dramatic, long coat, and the one in the knit sweater.  Never seen any of them around this dive before.”

“New people come around all the time,” Ianto says.  “Not sure I know where you’re going with this, sir.”

“Drop the sir, Ianto.  This is supposed to be a date,” Jack says quietly, taking a long drink of his beer.  “Besides, this isn’t a tourist attraction.  It’s not at all well publicized.  I doubt they just happened upon this place.”

“Well, if you plan on talking business, then I will too,” Ianto grumbles.

“Not business, persay.  Just idle speculation,” Jack says, leaning back.  “Sorry, Ianto.  With all the Rift activity…”

“You’re on edge, yes I know.  I am too,” Ianto says.  “And after Tosh and Owen… Well.  You think these guys came through the Rift?  That they’ve been here before? They don’t look confused enough.  Besides, there hasn’t been any negative spikes recently.”

“Some hide it better than others.  Some were sent to nicer places than others,” Jack says, staring at the four strangers.

The man in the coat stands up.  “Where’s he going?” Ianto asks.

Jack shrugs.  “The loo?”

But that notion is disabused, as the man walks straight towards them.  “Why have you been staring at us?” he demands.

“Hello, nice to meet you.  I’m Captain Jack Harkness,” Jack says snarkily, holding out his hand.

“Jack, stop it,” Ianto says tiredly.

“You’re as bad as the Doctor,” Jack whines.

“I want to know why you’ve been staring at me and my associates,” the man demands.

“Maybe I think your friend with the hair is attractive, and I’m working up the courage to ask him for a dance,” Jack says.  “Sorry, I don’t like being accused by people I don’t know.  What was your name again?”

“Sherlock Holmes.  And I doubt you were doing what you were doing what you said you were- you’re clearly here with your boyfriend of some time.  You stare at us like you know something about us we don’t even know.  So talk.  Now,” the man- Sherlock Holmes- demands.

“Why don’t you bring your friends… ah, your ‘associates’- over here, and we’ll go somewhere more private for this conversation.  I assure you, you don’t want everyone else hearing what’s about to go down,” Jack says tiredly.  “Ianto, might as well call Gwen.  We’re going to need the backup, I think.  We’re taking them to the Hub.”

***

“What is this place?” Sam asks, staring at everything wonderingly.

“This is the Hub,” Ianto says, clearly annoyed- with what, no one seems to be able to discern.

A woman sitting and typing at a computer waves at Ianto and Jack.  “We’ve got visitors, then?” she asks.

“Gwen, this is Sherlock Holmes, John Watson, and Sam and Dean Winchester,” Jack says, sitting on the edge of the computer desk.

“A pleasure, I’m sure,” Gwen says, nodding at the four of them.  She then turns back to her typing, looking totally uninterested, but clearly still watching the four of them sharply.

“Is that a dinosaur?” John asks.

“It’s a pteranodon.  Her name is Myfanwy,” Ianto explains.  “She came through the Rift a while ago, and we’ve been keeping her in the Hub since then.  Well, imagine the panic a real, live dinosaur in the streets of Cardiff would cause.”

“That’s scientifically impossible,” Sherlock mutters.

“You’re not dealing in science anymore,” Jack says calmly, leaning against one of the desks.  “Or at least, not any kind of science you’re equipped to deal with.”

“And what is that supposed to mean, exactly?” Sherlock asks.

Jack favors him with a wide grin.  “I know who you are.  Sherlock Holmes- hater of all things unexplainable by science.  News flash: science is ever evolving.  Believe it or not, Mr. Holmes, in the future, there’s all kinds of science you’d never dream of.”

“The future?” Sherlock asks.  “How would you know about that?”

“Just so long as the clocks all still work,” Sam mutters.  “I like knowing what time it is, weird science or no.”

“Sammy, no!” Dean groans.  “That’s just the one place!”

“Clocks?  What do you mean, clocks don’t work?” Ianto asks, flipping a pocket stopwatch over and over in his hand nervously.

“No, it’s this place… well… honestly, I’m not sure where it is,” Sam says.  “Dean got us lost, one time.”

“Did not!”

“Did too.  We’ve never been able to get back there.  Little desert village called Night Vale.  Things are funky there,” Sam says, continuing on as if he hadn’t been interrupted.  “Like… the radio just turned on to a chanel we’d never heard before.  There was this guy, broadcasting.  Called it Night Vale Radio, or something.”

“Soothing voice, he had,” Dean adds, absently.  “Kinda made you want to fall asleep.”

“Not at the wheel, you shouldn’t!” Sam says.

“Yeah, yeah.  Everything was really strange there.  We came across this house at the edge of town- it looked like it should be there.  All evidence pointed to the fact that it existed.  But it didn’t actually, if you know what I mean,” Dean continues.  “And the Impala’s clock stopped working when we crossed the border.  Or what I assume was the border.”

“Are you two totally bonkers?” Gwen asks, looking up from her computer.  

“Well, I thought we were, but that scientist with the hair- better hair than you, Sammy- he said we weren’t.  But he warned us to just turn around and drive back the way we came, and pay more attention to street signs,” Dean says.

“Inattention was how we got there, apparently.” Sam adds.  “His name was Carlos, not ‘the scientist with the hair’.  And he did not have better hair than me.”

“At least long hair looked good on him,” Dean shoots back.

“Boys, boys, we can argue about who was prettier later,” Jack says.  “Right now, we have a job to do.”

“Job.  How do you know about any kind of job?” Sherlock grumbles.  “We haven’t told you anything.”

“Two American hunters, and a well known detective duo wandering around the streets of Cardiff?  Together?  If that doesn’t scream ‘job’ to anyone else, then I don’t know what does.  There’s something that brought you here, and i’m guessing its the Rift.”

“The Rift?  What’s that?” John asks, clearly jumping on a viable change of subject.

“It’s an area where the borders between worlds is thinner,” Gwen explains, chair swiveled around to face them.  “Things can get through it- fall through, jump through… whatever.  And not just things, but people and aliens too.”

“Aliens are people, Gwen,” Jack says.  “Technically, I’m an alien.”

“You’re human enough,” Ianto mutters.

Gwen raises her eyebrows at both of them.  “So not going there.”

“What?” Jack protests.  “I’m not from Earth!  That’s enough to make me alien, isn’t it?  The Boeshane Peninsula isn’t on Earth, it’s on an Earth colony!”

“Anyways,” Gwen says, “Here in the Hub, we monitor Rift activity.  That’s Torchwood’s main goal- to monitor and control alien threats.”

“But how’d you know we were hunters?” Sam asks.

Jack actually squirms.  “Well… future, remember?  With names like Sam and Dean Winchester… I… um… you couldn’t be anyone else.  Could you.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Dean asks testily.  “With names like Sam and Dean Winchester…”

“They’re just stupid books,” Jack says finally.  “A lot of people treat them like religious texts… the Winchester Gospel, they call it.  They were just fairy tales- tales about people who actually got to live life.  It was exciting.”

“You mean… the books Chuck wrote?” Dean asks, looking horrified.  “Those things survive into the future?”

Jack looks really uncomfortable.  “Yeah.  They do.  So, I just assumed you were… them.”  He coughs.

“Winchester isn’t exactly a common name,” John supplies.  “It was a reasonable assumption.”

Gwen *harumphs*.  “Are you lot all going to stand around all day talking?  We have work to do.  If you’re going to pull me away from a quiet evening with Rhys, the east you can do is make it interesting enough to justify me being here,” she adds, glaring at Jack.

“Oh.  Yeah.  Sorry about that,” Jack says.

***

_ They are almost all assembled.  When the time is right, he will appear and bring them to the appointed place.  Or perhaps he will lead them there, and let them find it on their own.  But with all the right powers in all the right places, at the right time, and it should work. _

_ The once and future king shall rise again. _

***

“I think we need more help than this,” Jack says, rubbing his head and looking out across the Hub.  The older Winchester, Dean is missing, off in the shooting range, giving the dummies hell with Sherlock Holmes.  Sam is typing away furiously at a laptop, talking with Gwen all the while.  John is sitting in a corner with a mug of tea, trying to look inconspicuous.

“What do you mean, more help?” Ianto asks.  “This is more backup than we’ve ever had.”

“I’m thinking of calling the Doctor,” Jack says warily, watching for Ianto’s reaction.

“Do you think he’ll answer you?” Ianto asks, expression carefully neutral.  “I mean, he so rarely picks up that phone of his…”

“For something this big?  He can’t avoid it.  And besides, he won’t pass up an opportunity to meet both the Winchesters, and Sherlock Holmes.  This will be a very, very interesting puzzle for the Doctor, and he’ll never forgive me if I  _ don’t _ tell him about it,” Jack says confidently.

“Your call,” Ianto says.  “Literally and figuratively, of course.”

Jack laughs, then dials the number Martha gave him.

***

“And you have no idea what’s going on,” the Doctor says, surveying the faces of the assembled group of hunters, detectives, and Torchwood agents.

“None whatsoever,” Gwen affirms, when no one else makes to answer.  “Research shows nothing, and all we’re seeing is the spikes in Rift activity, which means nothing until we go check it out.”

“There’s no precedence in local lore for all of this,” Sam adds.  “I’ve been able to find no legends, or any kind of paranormal activity history.  Well, nothing plausible, at any rate.”

“What about the implausible?  The improbable?” the Doctor asks.  “I’ve found that often, the most unlikely solution often is the correct one.”

Sam shrugs.  “I mean, there’s a lot of lore on King Arthur- you know, the Once and Future King?  Camelot, Knights Of the Round Table and all that?  Problem is, there isn’t a specific formula for when people say the future part of once and future will happen.  It’s just in “Camelot’s greatest time of need” or something like that.  Plus, no one actually knows where Camelot was.”

“The Once and Future King?  Well, you did promise me interesting, Jack!” the Doctor says with a bright grin.

“Camelot was surrounding this area,” Jack says darkly.  “Nice place, actually.  Bit biased against magic, until Queen Guinevere took the throne.  Magic users became a lot more open after the ban Uther placed on magic was lifted.  A lot more people were saved from illness, for one.”

“How do you know all that?” Sherlock says testily.  “There’s no evidence.”

“You want evidence?  I lived through it!” Jack snaps.  Ianto grabs his arm, holding him back, and calming him down.

“There is no way you were alive in the Dark Ages,” Dean says disbelieving.

“I’ve been alive for thousands of years,” Jack says, voice only barely civil.  “Don’t tell me what is and isn’t possible.”

“Boys, boys,” a silky voice says from the shadows.  “Let’s not argue over something so trivial.”  A woman steps out of the shadows.  “Really.  There’s so much going on, and you’re going to have a little verbal pissing contest?”

“And who might you be?  How did you get in here?” Ianto asks.

“The name’s Song.  Professor River Song,” River says smoothy.  “Pleasure to meet you.”

Ever one to flirt, Jack extends a hand to her.  “Captain Jack Harkness,” he says, clearly not to be outdone in the title game.

“Stop it!” the Doctor says.  “River, you too.  When did you get here?”

“Oh just now,” River replies.  She flashes a wrist strap.  “I knew you’d be needing some extra assistance staying on task, you bunch of testosterone filled, self styled heros.”

“I beg your pardon!” Gwen says.

“Oh, that’s a pleasant surprise!” River says.  “I didn’t expect to find anyone else with sense around here.  Gwen Cooper, yes?”

“That’s me.”

“How did you get into this building?” Sherlock interrupts.  “You didn’t come in one of the two main entrances, because someone would have spotted you.  So, you must have gotten in some other way.”

“Deducing, are we?” River asks with a laugh.  “Clever.  Guess you’ll just have to wonder.  If you’re very good, and play nicely, I might even tell you.” She punctuates this with a wink.  “But, enough small talk.  We have places to be.”

“You can’t just waltz in here and tell us where to go!” Dean objects.

“Unfortunately for you, hunter boy, I can do exactly that,” River says.  “What you’re looking for is at Stonehenge.  Oh look, problem solved.”

“And how do you know that?” Dean demands.

“Because I’ve done this before already.”

***

_ All is ready.  They are here. _

***

“Why are we here?” Dean demands, staring around at the fallen rocks in Stonehenge.  The wind whips through the landscape, whistling eerily.  Dean glares at River, then zips his jacket up to his neck.

“All I know is this is where we have to be,” River says defensively.

“Why are we trusting you again?” Sherlock asks.  His coat is turned up against the wind, scarf tied tightly over the opening.

“You don’t have another choice,” River says sharply.  “Come now, Mr. Consulting Detective.  Would I lie to you all?  What would I gain?”  Sherlock sniffs, but doesn’t respond.

“Ah,” a soft voice says.  “You have all arrived.”

“Who said that?” Dean asks, tracking the landscape with his gun.  “Show yourself!”

“I did,” the voice says.  There’s a flash of light, and a man is revealed, standing on top of one of the arches in the center of the circle.  “There is no need for such primitive weapons here.  They have no place in a peaceful ceremony.”  Another flash of light, and Dean’s gun- along with all the other weapons carried by Jack, River, Ianto, Gwen, Sam and John fly from their pockets, and land far outside the circle.

“Ceremony?  What ceremony?  Who are you?” Sherlock asks.  He’s breathing hard, brow furrowed in concentration.

“What did you do to the Colt?!” Dean shouts.

The man  _ floats _ down to the ground.  “Your weapon is unharmed,” he says coolly.  “Why mankind has chosen to make bigger and better weapons with all the technology now at their disposal, I will never understand.”

“That’s humans for you,” the Doctor agrees.

“Indeed, Doctor.”

“You still haven’t told us who you are,” Ianto says, voice and face as calm as when he made coffee earlier that day.  “Or why we’re here, since I presume you somehow arranged this.”

“Correct,” the warlock- for he can’t be anything but- says.  He stops in front of the assembled group.  “My name is Merlin.  You may know me by another name- Emrys.”

The entire group stares at him.  “Merlin.  Like the legends of Camelot, wizard to King Arthur, sword in the stone Merlin?” Sam finally demands, voice half hysterical.

“Wizard to King Arthur?  Quite the opposite,” Merlin says bitterly.  “He had no idea who or what I was until the very end- until it was too late.”

“You’re trying to raise Arthur from the dead,” Sherlock says suddenly.  His voice is shakey- as if he’s having a hard time grasping the concept in front of him.

“Close, detective.  I have read the signs- the time and place for Arthur to rise as the Once and Future King is now, in this place.  All that is needed is you.”

“Us?” Ianto says quickly.  “Look, I understand the place: Stonehenge is reputedly a place of the spirits.  I can even understand the time- I mean, just look at the Christmas invasion and the return of Abaddon.  But why do you need us?”

“Ginger haired chick?  Seriously bloodthirsty?  Knight of Hell?  She made it here to Cardiff?” Sam asks.

“Large monster.  Horns.  Sucks the life out of everything in his path like an all you can eat buffet,” Gwen shoots back, just as quickly.

“A physical manifestation of all that is wrong in the world, now,” Merlin says.  “I finally have the formula figured out.  Arthur needs a reason to come back- a mission.  A quest, if you will.  All of you represent a part of this world that is somehow broken, and the fight against it.  This is, in a sense, the beginning of a new Round Table.”

“Woah, woah, woah.  No one said anything about some damn quest,” Dean says.  “We’re not here to get involved in being knights in shining armor.”

“Well, don’t tell Charlie you said that,” Sam mutters.  “You’ll ruin all her plans for LARPing with us again.”

“Shut up Sammy!”

“I’m forced to agree with Dean, as unfortunate as that is,” Sherlock says.  “I have no desire to become some sort of knight on a quest.  I may play for the side of the angels occasionally, but that does not by any means imply that I am one.”

“That’s not…” Merlin starts to say.

“Well, I for one have no problems playing nicely with others, unlike some of you,” the Doctor says, smiling brightly around at everyone.  “Teams are good.  It’s been a while since I’ve had a team.  Remember that, Jack?  River?”

“As long as I’m not abandoning Torchwood…” Jack starts to say.

“Are none of you listening?” Merlin shouts.  “I’m not asking you to change your patterns, your set ways!  You were all drawn here because of what you are already doing!  There is darkness in this world that you are fighting already.  It’s a matter of knowing when and where to fight, not changing what you’re already doing.  As a matter of fact, we’re still missing one person.”

“Who?” Gwen asks.

“Like the Winchesters, she fights demons,” Merlin explains.

“How do you even know who we all are?” John asks.  “If, you know, you have time to give us an explanation while waiting for this other person.”

“I just… know.  Magic, you could call it, for lack of a better term,” Merlin says.  The mystique and strange speech patterns are broken just a bit by this admission.  “I just knew: who to compel to travel here, where to give the right push, the right impetus… I don’t know how I know, though.”

“That’s ridiculous,” Sherlock scoffs.  “You can’t just…  _ know _ things like that.  It’s impossible.”

“Everything about this case has been impossible, Sherlock,” John mutters.  “How is this any less possible?”

“Is is really?  Is it so hard to believe that the wildest parts of the human imagination have a basis in reality, somewhere?” Merlin asks.  “Magic is real- of course it is.  It’s fueled by the imagination of people.  The wonder of the world may have been lost, but with fantasy, it’s slowly coming back.”

“Like in  _ Harry Potter _ !” the Doctor says excitedly.  “People are dreaming for once.  Now, I don’t know that I’d go so far as to say that magic is anything more than some very advanced science…”

“Or perhaps very primitive science?” Merlin asks.

“Or that,” the Doctor agrees.

“So anything humans dream up is real?” Dean asks skeptically.  “Look, that’s great and all, but I don’t really want to see the world regressed to the dark ages, fighting monstrous titans that eat people.”

“What?” Sam asks.  “What’s that from?”

“Nevermind,” Dean mutters.

“ _ Attack on Titan _ ?” Merlin asks in the same breath.

“There  _ are _ such things as other realities,” River says, quietly.  “Alternate timelines… if someone had made a different choice, it could change the world entirely.  Experiments gone wrong, mutations that might have never happened if the lab had been cleaned properly… every event creates another parallel universe.”

“Bad Wolf,” Jack mutters.  The Doctor flinches.

“Well, isn’t this just a party?” a female voice drawls.  “Won’t you look at that, Willow?  There’s a whole welcome committee here for us.  So sweet.”

“And there’s our final guest,” Merlin says.

“Buffy, why are we here, again?” another voice, male this time asks.  “Like, road tripping and flying to Great Britain, yay!  Never pass up a chance to sightsee around Great Britain, pester the Watchers Council and visit Giles.  And drink that nasty tea of his.  But all these people… are you sure we’re in the right place?”

“You’re in the right place,” Merlin says, walking over to them.  “Now we can begin.”  Three figures walk into the light.

“Who’re you?” the redhead asks.

“My name is Merlin.”

“And how about everyone else?” the blonde asks.

Merlin lets out a sigh.  “We don’t have time for this.  As quickly as I can then… the Doctor and Professor River Song, time travelers. Captain Jack Harkness, Ianto Jones, and Gwen Cooper, of Torchwood. Sam and Dean Winchester, demon hunters.  Sherlock Holmes and John Watson, consulting detective of London.  And you must be Buffy Summers, Vampire Slayer.”

“And Willow Rosenberg, part time witch, and Xander Harris,” the redhead- Willow- says.

“As I was just starting to explain…” Merlin starts to say, before falling silent.

“You were saying?” Buffy prompts him.

“It’s time,” Merlin says.  “It’s finally time.”

“Time for what?” Xander demands.

“He’s raising his buddy Arthur from the dead,” Sam explains.

“What?  Wait, no!” Buffy says.  “That’s really dangerous.  Like… that’s a really, really bad idea.  Doesn't matter how much you miss someone.  Don’t bring the dead back to life.  They’re happier where they are.”

“You said it, sister,” Sam mutters, glaring at Dean.

And then, the whole circle is shrouded in mist.

***

“Thank you.  Thank you.  Why did I never say that before?” a voice asks as the mist clears.

“Where did he come from?” Xander demands.

“Merlin?  Why did I never think to say that before?” the voice asks again.  There’s a person lying in the middle of the circle of Stonehenge, who’s slowly sitting up.

“Arthur?” Merlin asks.  His voice breaks just slightly.

“Where the bloody hell did you go?” Arthur demands.  “Weren’t we in the middle of a… a heartwarming… I mean heartbreaking… what do I mean?  We were having some kind of…”

“Heart to hear?” Merlin suggests, walking over to help the man up.

“Yes.  That.  Good description,” Arthur says.  “Wait.  Who are all these people.  Why aren’t you wearing that obnoxious kerchief on your neck?”

“Asking the important questions, are we?” Sherlock asks.  His face is contorted into strange shapes, like he’s fighting something.

“Sherlock, are you alright?” John asks worriedly. 

“Just fine,” Sherlock says, making an effort to straighten out his facial features.  He flashes a quick smile- all teeth, and more predatory than a true smile.

“I’m having the most intense sense of deja vu,” Buffy mutters.  “Only, I didn’t get a welcoming committee.  Anyone else waiting for the fallout?”

“Hey, I’m not a good welcoming committee?” Xander asks.  “Remember that time when I performed CPR and saved your behind?  And everyone else, if Cordelia’s story about that alternate universe is to be believed.”

“Hey!  My doppelganger was plenty believeable!” Willow protests.

“Second time, not the first time,” Buffy says, which shuts Xander and Willow up.

“Second time?  Second time what?” Dean asks.

“The second time I died,” Buffy says.  “Bringing people back from the dead is a bad idea.  Like… there’s always repercussions.”

“Things were fine after I did CPR!” Xander protests.

“No, they weren’t.  I ran away after,” Buffy snaps.  “Maybe they were fine on a cosmic scale, but being dead, no matter for how long really messes you up.  And let’s not even talk about the second time when you lot pulled me out of heaven.”

“Don’t even talk to me about people dying,” Sam says darkly.  “When you die, go to Hell, and come back more than once, then come back and we can compare notes.”

“Why is everyone talking about dying?” Arthur asks, shaking himself out in the middle of the circle.  “Merlin, you still haven’t answered.”

“I would, if everyone would shut up,” Merlin mutters.

“Good luck with that,” Gwen says kindly.  “No one shuts up around here.”

“Arthur, you died.  Over two thousand years ago,” Merlin explains.  “A lot has changed since then.”

“Music’s better,” Jack remarks.  “Wars are worse, if anything.  More weapons of mass destruction.  Faster transportation for stuff, so people have more of a reach.”

“Then… if I was dead… how did I get here?” Arthur asks, looking around.  “And who are all these people?”

Merlin stares at Arthur, and doesn’t answer.

“Hey!  Warlock!  Are you going to answer?” River asks, snapping her fingers in front of Merlin’s face.  “No?  Alright, I will.  I’m River Song.  That’s the Doctor, over there.  We’re married, sort of.  Time travelers. Very complicated.  Those three over there are Gwen, Ianto and Jack.  They work at a place called Torchwood that monitors a space-time continuum called the Rift.”

“Gwen?” Arthur asks hopefully.

“She’s dead, Arthur,” Merlin says, speaking again at last.  “I’m sorry.  That’s not her.”  Arthur bites his lip, but doesn’t say anything.

“Who am I not?” Gwen demands.

“My… wife, Guinevere,” Arthur says quietly.  “Wife, and Queen.”

“I’m no queen,” Gwen says testily.

“Bet that’s not what Rhys said,” Jack mutters slyly.

Gwen whacks his arm.  “Shut up.”

“Anyways,” River says.  “The rest of the people.  The two in the hideous plaid shirts are Sam and Dean Winchester.  Sam’s the giant.  They’re really bad tempered, with alcohol problems, and they hunt demons.  Over there are Buffy, Willow and Xander.  They also hunt demons.”

“Mostly, I slay vampires, not hunt demons,” Buffy mutters.  “If you want to be technical about it.  But any big bad that goes bump in the night is fair game.”

“The one in the cool black coat is Sherlock Holmes, self made and styled ‘consulting detective’, and his friend John, who’s a military doctor,” River continues as if Buffy had never spoke.  “Did I miss anyone?”

“I don’t understand,” Arthur says.  “Why… how… what…?”  He stops, stumbling over words.

“How about we continue this conversation somewhere more comfortable?  Like… going back to the Hub?” Ianto asks.  “I don’t know about all of you, but I could use some coffee after all this excitement.”

“Thank God,” Gwen exclaims.  Sherlock’s eyes flash black.

“You’re a demon!” Sam yells.  “Merlin, where the hell are our weapons when we need them?”

“You.  Stupid.  Bitch,” Sherlock says.  There’s a flash of black smoke, and he vanishes.

“Sherlock?” John whispers.  He bends down, picking something up from the ground no one else can see.  

“Coffee,” Ianto says firmly.  “It seems we have a bit of a problem.”

“I told you there’d be repercussions,” Buffy says, as they head towards the cars parked outside of Stonehenge.

***

“I don’t understand,” John complains.  He grips his mug of tea tightly with both hands.  “This is totally new.  Sherlock’s… strange, certainly.  But a demon?  There’s no way.”

“You ever said the name of God around him?” Dean asks.  “I’d totally forgotten about that little trick.”

“Yeah, all the time.  But I’ve never seen that,” John says.

It’s a mark of how serious a problem there is that Jack doesn’t comment on this.  “So it’s a new development,” Jack says, leaning forward.  “This isn’t normal.”

“I already told you that,” John snarks back.

“Look, John isn’t the enemy here,” Arthur says.  “Clearly, he’s as shocked as we all were.  I’d like to know why the… you said demon?... revealed itself just then.”

“It didn’t have a choice,” Sam explains.  “Just for a second, when someone says the name of God, a demon is forced to show it’s true colors, as it flinches away from anything holy.  We don’t make the rules- we just use them to our advantage.”

“When we remember all the rules,” Dean mutters.

“Look, Newton’s laws state that for every action there is an equal and opposite reaction,” Buffy says.  “So clearly, the demon possessed Sherlock because Arthur came back to life.”  Everyone stares at her.  “What?  I paid attention in school.  Sometimes…”

“So it’s my fault that this demon… whatever it is… is… possessing, yes?  Is possessing Sherlock?” Arthur asks.

“Well, not exactly.  It could have latched onto anyone.  And we don’t know who it is,” Sam explains.

“Which makes it harder to fight,” Xander concludes.  Sam and Dean stare at him.  “Hey, we do the hunting thing too.  Research, figure out who and what it is, dust it.  Problem solved.”

“I’m research girl,” WIllow says with a bright grin.  “And also magic.  Which is helpful.”

“Does this help at all?” John asks.  He pulls something out of his pocket- a small figurine.  “I found this after Sherlock…”

“Teleported?  Disappeared?” Dean suggested.

“Yeah.  That.  One of those.  I’m not sure.  But this was left behind,” John says, setting the figurine on the table.

“It’s… a fly,” Gwen says, nonplussed, after examining the figurine.

“Oh!  Oh!” Willow says, looking excited.  “There’s all kinds of lore on flies!  That’s useful! I just have to remember where I saw that…”

“We’ve got a whole library catalogued online,” Ianto says.  “Help yourselves.”

***

“Find anything useful?”  Buffy asks, twirling a wooden stake between her fingers.

“No, not yet,” Sam mutters, poking his head out from behind three computer monitors.  “But feel free to pitch in at any time.”

Buffy flips the stake up in the air, and catches it, pointy end facing down.  “Look, you really don’t want me near anything research related.  I get bored, and then I punch things.  Or people.  I’m really not picky.”

“Bored?” John asks, from where he’s sitting, fingers curled around yet another mug of tea.

“Hey, Professor,” Dean asks.  “Didn’t you say you’d done this before?  Why not tell us exactly what’s going on here?  It’d make it a lot easier on everyone.”

All eyes turn to River.  “I don’t know exactly what happens,” River says regretfully.  “I just knew where to be, and when.  I don’t tell myself everything, and I wouldn’t want to know.  Too much future knowledge is dangerous.  If you knew you were going to die, or something horrible was going to happen to you if you went through with an action that will save the world, would you still do it?”

“Yes,” Arthur says promptly.  There are head nods from Buffy, Sam, Dean and Jack.

“Even if I did know, I couldn't tell anyways,” River continues.  “Spoilers.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Dean asks again.

“Do you want a cataclysmic rift in space and time from knowing things you shouldn't?” the Doctor asks.  “That can happen if you’re not careful.”

“That’s likely,” Xander mutters under his breath, punctuating the sarcasm with an eye roll.

“You’d be surprised how likely it is,” Jack says.  “Terrible things can happen to people who meddle in time.  Particularly people who meddle in their own timelines.”

“The full quote is “terrible things happen to wizards who meddle with time, Harry”.  Don’t half-quote Hermione Granger,” Willow says.

“I wasn’t quoting… Nevermind.  The point still holds.  Messing around in a timeline you’re involved in is dangerous,” Jack says.  “I had to be put in a cryogenic stasis pod for a couple of centuries because of that.”

“There’s no way you’re older than fifty,” Dean argues.

“I’m thousands of years old,” Jack says.  “I’ve kind of lost track.”  His eyes harden, and he almost seems to fold in on himself.  Ianto moves over, and puts his hands on Jack’s shoulders.  He glares at everyone equally.

Merlin raises his eyebrows.  “How old do you think I look?” he asks Dean.

“Twenty-five?”

Merlin laughs.  “Wrong.  Give it a thousand plus years, then you’ll be closer.”

“You’ve really been alive all this time?” Arthur asks, staring at Merlin as if he’d never seen him before.

“Oy!  Chatterboxes!  I think I found something!” Gwen says.

“What’d you find?” Jack asks, snapping out of his walk down memory lane.

“Well, I was surfing around Wikipedia, looking at demons, and I found this guy.”  She flips her computer around to show a page full of text.

“Baal-berith?” Sam asks, reading the title out.  “Who’s he?”

“A false Canaanite god, who Christianity turned into a demon,” Willow answers.  “Found him.  Sorry Gwen, I hacked your IP address.”

“His worshipers carried around idols of flies in their pockets,” Gwen adds triumphantly.

“Great.  So, what’s the MO?  How do we kill it?” Buffy asks.

“Demon blade.  Colt.  Take your pick,” Dean says darkly.

“No, wait!  You can’t kill Sherlock!” John says, suddenly coming to life.  “He’s still in there!  I know it!”

“Exorcism, then,” Sam says, unbothered.

“But we don’t want the son of a bitch to just be sent back to Hell, Sammy,” Dean argues.  “Hell’s a mess right now.  He’d just get out as quickly as he came in.”

“So trap the demon after you exorcise him,” Buffy says logically.  “It’s not that hard, guys.”

“Yes, it is.  Any exorcism will just send it back to Hell,” Dean argues.

“So, back to research then?” Xander suggests.  There’s a collective groan.

***

“I think I found something!” Sam announces.  “Look- it’s not the usual exorcism Dean and I use.  If we use this particular exorcism in conjunction with a pair of demon traps to keep the demon in, I think we could pull this off without having to hurt Sherlock.”

“And then how do you propose to kill a big black puff of smoke?” Dean asks.

“Who said anything about killing?” the Doctor asks.  “There are other methods of containment.  Ones that that don’t involve killing.”

“You don’t try to save demons, Doc,” Dean says.  His facial expressions are hard and uncompromising.  “You just kill them.  They don’t do the whole talking and negotiating thing.”

“What do you call Crowley, then?” Sam mutters.

“Sammy, you’re not helping.”

“Much though I hate to agree with plaid- clad over there, he’s right,” Xander says, leaning back in his chair.  He cracks his neck before continuing.  “Look, demons don’t go from bad guy to good guy without some kind of reason.”

“Like Angel,” Willow adds.  

“Angels?” Dean asks.

“No, not angels.  Just Angel.  That’s his name.  He’s a vampire who got his soul back, and sort of became a good guy,” Willow explains.

“Hey!  Focus!” Gwen says sharply.  “Will it work, or won’t it?”

“If there’s a way to contain a demon, it could be contained on board the TARDIS,” the Doctor says.

“I told you, Doc, containing isn’t good enough,” Dean says with a frown.

“Don’t call me ‘Doc’,” the Doctor says.

“I don’t think we have much of a choice,” Sam says.  “We don’t have that much time.”

“I think we have some appropriate containers hidden around here somewhere,” Ianto says, standing up.  “Let me go back into the archives and check.”

***

“Alright, where is that little bastard?” Gwen mutters, searching the cameras.  “He can’t have gone too far.”

“He could be anywhere in the city,” Arthur says, looking over his shoulder.  “We should send out a search party to try to find an corner him.”

“Buddy, you’ve been out of it for a while,” Gwen says.  “I can find him like this.  No worries.” 

“Are you some kind of warlock?” Arthur asks.

“Warlock?  No, not at all,” Gwen says, typing furiously at the computer.  “This is just basic technology.  At least, searching the camera feeds is basic technology.  But the cameras themselves aren’t basic.  I’ve hacked into several city wide surveillance cameras to try to find him.”

Arthur shakes his head.  “Witchcraft.”

“Hardly,” Willow says, walking over.  “Any luck finding him, Gwen?”

“He can’t have gone that far,” Gwen says, still scanning the screen.

“He teleported.  He can go anywhere he damn well wants to go,” Willow says, sitting next to Gwen at the computer.  “You need to broaden your search.”

“I’m not sure how much clearance Torchwood has when it comes to the rest of the world,” Gwen admits, scooting over so WIllow can see the whole screen.

“You don’t need clearance, you just need a good enough hacker,” Willow says.

“Well, since Tosh isn’t here anymore ,Torchwood has been lacking a spectacular hacker for a while,” Gwen says defensively.

“What happened to this… Tosh?” Arthur asks, clearly still trying to follow the conversation.

“She died.  That’s pretty much the only way you can stop working for Torchwood,” Gwen says bitterly.  “Unless Jack retcons you.  But I don’t fancy losing all my memories, so that’s not really an option.”

“Sit back and watch the experts work,” Willow says.  “You want to see some real sorcery? Watch and learn, watch and learn.”  She waves her hand over the screen, and then starts typing furiously.  

“What’s she doing?” Arthur asks.

“Not sure.  It seems to be working, though,” Gwen answers.

“70% match in London,” Willow announces.  “I take that back- 90% match, with other factors included.  We’ve got a location.”

“Where is it?” Jack asks from across the room.

“Looks like… 221 B Baker Street,” Gwen says, leaning across Willow to get the answer.  

“221 B?  That’s where we went to find Sherlock when we first came here,” Sam says, frowning.  “You’re saying he just… went back to his house?”

“Oh no!” John mutters.

“What?” Arthur asks.

“Mrs. Hudson!” John says.

“The landlady?” Sam asks.

“She doesn’t know!  What might Sherlock do to her, like this?” John asks, anguished.  “She can’t… she’ll never… We need to warn her!  We need to get there now!”

“Looks like it’s my time,” the Doctor says.  “We’ve got all we need for the exorcism?”  There are nods of general consent.  “Excellent.  To the TARDIS, everyone!”

***

“How is this possible?” Xander mutters, staring at the inside of the TARDIS.  “This isn’t normal.  Even for magic, this is bizarre.”

“It’s… bigger on the inside,” Buffy says.

“I know, I know.  Impressive, isn’t it?” the Doctor says.  “Now, let’s take a little trip over to 221 B Baker street, why don’t we?  Exorcism spell ready?”

“Ready,” Sam affirms.  ‘Do you have the appropriate container?”

“No worries,” River say breezily.  “I know where it is.”

“No worries?  Mrs. Hudson could be being tortured right now!” John says.

“Is worrying about her going to change anything about her situation?” Arthur asks.

“You don’t understand,” John says grumpily.  “Let’s go.  Now.  Before something more horrible happens to her.”

The Doctor runs around the center console, dodging all the people crowded in the TARDIS.  “We’re on our way, alright?  Just keep your pants on.”

Arthur glares, arms folded across his chest.  “I think the bigger problem here is that…”

“Shhh,” Merlin says next to him.  “Whatever you’re going to say, don’t say it.”

“When did you start giving  _ me _ orders?” Arthur asks, turning his glare on Merlin.

“When I knew more about what’s going on than you did,” Merlin replies.  “Don’t argue right now.  It won’t change anything.  This is a different world than you’re used to.”

“Well clearly…” Arthur starts to say.

“Hold on!” the Doctor shouts.  “Geronimo!”

And the little blue box starts to shake and disappear.

***

  
“Turn off the damned breaks!” River shouts.  “You’re going to hurt her!”

The Doctor sniffs.  “Well, maybe I like the noise.  She’s never said anything.”

“Hurt who?” John asks, from the corner he was thrown to.

“The TARDIS, my ship,” the Doctor says.  

“Hey!  Listen up!” Jack says loudly.  “We need a plan of attack.  How many entrances are there to this place, John?”

“Just one to each room,” John mumbles.  “But he could be in one of four apartments.”

“Four groups then,” Jack commands.  “Someone in each who can cast the exorcism.  So, Sam, Dean, Willow and Merlin, split up.  You all know Latin, you’re each point of a group.  Everyone else, divide up evenly according to skills.  Some fighters in each group- particularly Buffy, River and Arthur, be in different groups from me.  And split up from your friends- we don’t want all of the protection for one area of the world in one group, just in case.”

Slowly, the twelve move into groups.  Merlin gives Arthur a regretful look, before moving to River’s side, to be joined by Gwen.  Buffy and Dean gravitate towards each other, joined by Ianto.  Sam moves to stand by the Doctor and Arthur, and Willow and Xander glance at each other, shrug, and join up with Jack.  John stands there, looking bewildered.  

Xander frowns.  “John, come with us,” he says.  

“We need to go!  Sherlock… Sherlock could be hurting Mrs. Hudson right now!” John says, voice wavering.

“Weapons set?” Dean asks.  Everyone carrying a weapon nods grimly.  Buffy just rolls up her sleeves with a slight smirk.

“Everyone’s prepared with a prison and the spell?” the Doctor asks.  Sam, Dean, Merlin and Willow all nod, holding up the odd, pulsating cubes that the Doctor claim will hold a demon.  “Then let’s go!  Geronimo!” the Doctor says.  He throws the doors of the TARDIS wide open, and the four teams head out, into Baker’s street.  

Sam and Merlin’s groups break off, searching the downstairs.  John leads the other two groups up the stairs.  Dean, Buffy and Ianto break of, searching the rooms next to 221 B. 

Willow slips in front of the group.  “On my count,” she whispers.  Jack readies his gun.  “One.  Two.  Three,” and she flings the door open.

Sherlock sits in the room, looking smug.  ‘“Finally, you’ve found me.  It took you long enough.  But I guess I was just too obvious for you all.”

“Sherlock, why are you doing this?” John asks.

“Because I can,” Sherlock says smugly.  “Your little friend in here, for all his cleverness, is really kind of stupid.  Science isn’t the be all and end all of life.  My people understood that.  THey worshiped me as a god.  Pity that you Judeo-Christian lot had to turn around and see me or my true form.  It would have been much easier for you all if you’d just kept going as you were.”

As Sherlock has been monologuing, WIllow has been busy chanting.  “ _ Princeps gloriosissime cælestis militiæ, sancte Michaël Archangele, defende nos in prælio et colluctatione, quæ nobis adversus principes et potestates, adversus mundi rectores tenebrarum harum _ ,” she mutters under her breath.  

“What are you doing?” Sherlock asks.  He turns abruptly to her.  “Why. You little witch!  You think you can banish me?”  He moves his hand, and Willow goes flying.

Jack looks around in alarm.  “Keep him taking!” he hisses, before running out the door.

“So.  What’s your name, then?” Xander asks.  “If you plan on subjugating all of humanity again, we ought to know who we’re going to worship.”

“My name is Baal-berith!  You will address me as Lord or Master,” Sherlock announces.  “I will bring back the old ways of blood sacrifices and magic!”

Willow’s eyes blink open.  “ _ Contra spiritualia nequitiæ, in cælestibusus. Veni in auxilium hominum, quos Deus creavit inexterminabiles, et ad imaginem similitudinis suæ fecit _ ,” she shouts.

“No!  You will be silent!” Sherlock screams.

“Bite me,” Willow snarks.

Sherlock snarls, and raises his arm.  Willow is raised into the air, pressed against the wall.

“Hey.  Big black Smokey!” Dean yells from the door.  “Over here, dickwad!”

Sherlock lets Willow fall, and glares at the door.  His eyes go completely  black.  “You want smoke and fireworks?” he asks dangerously.

“ _ Et a tyrannide diaboli emit pretio magno! _ ” Willow screams.  She holds up the prison.  Sherlock lets out a screech, and the smoke engulfs Willow.

Buffy starts to run forward.  “Don’t you dare,” Dean snarls, grabbing her arm.  “You can’t interrupt now.”

“That’s my friend,” Buffy hisses.  “Let go of me.”

But even as she says this, the smoke dissipates.  Sherlock and Willow both collapse to the floor.  Willow smiles tiredly, and holds out the prison to the group.  “Did someone order a demon cube?”

“Sherlock!” John says, running over to him.

“What happened?  John, I don’t remember… The warlock appeared, and then his friend materialized, and I was fighting with something in my mind, and then I was here,” Sherlock babbles, uncharastically. 

“You were possessed by a demon,” John explains, propping Sherlock up.  

“We heard screaming,” Arthur says from just outside the door.  He looks slightly winded.  Behind him crowd the Doctor and Sam.  “Did you catch it?”

Willow pushes herself to her feet.  “Got it,” she confirms.  

Jack comes in at a run, followed by Merlin, River and Gwen.  “We got it.  No worries,” Xander says casually.  

“Ohh,” a very surprised voice says.  “Sherlock, dear, you have so many guests!  Are they all a part of this case of yours?”

“Mrs. Hudson, I think we’re going to need a very large round of tea,” John says, as the landlady comes into view, pushing through the crowd.  

“Not your housekeeper, dear,” Mrs. Hudson reminds him.  

***

“So, the future,” Arthur says.

Merlin smiles.  “What about it?”

“There’s so much I need to catch up on,” Arthur says.  

“We can put together a list,” Ianto suggests.  “Starting with electricity, and moving all the way through modern marvels like plumbing and airplanes.”  He hands Arthur a steaming mug of coffee.  “And, of course, fancy coffee.”

Merlin laughs.  “I’m just glad the Winchesters didn’t bother to hang around much.  No need to get so many firearms in one place.”

“Or those other demon hunters,” Gwen adds.  “Sure I liked Buffy well enough, but I could see them causing some serious trouble.”

“We all could cause serious trouble,” Jack says, slipping into a chair.  “The Doctor never hangs around much either.  But we’ve all got our battles to face- some on different scales than others.”

“And when Albion’s time of greatest need comes, we have more than the allies to face it,” Merlin adds softly.  “That’s what this is mostly about.  A new Round Table.  A new alliance.”

“A new Round Table.  I like the sound of that,” Arthur says, lifting up his mug.  Gwen and Ianto follow suit.

“To new allies, then,” Jack says.  The five of them drink.

“Who you gonna call?” Gwen jokes.  “The Round Table!”

Arthur looks around in confusion as everyone else laughs.  “What?”

“Time to get you caught up on some pop culture,” Gwen says brightly.  “I’m calling Rhys.  It’s movie night.”

*****


End file.
